


Bloodfeather

by Kaijuscientists



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Blood, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M, Wing Injury, Wingfic, Wings, a little bit of wing grooming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-05-30 21:05:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19411396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaijuscientists/pseuds/Kaijuscientists
Summary: Aziraphale injures a wing, he goes to the only person he trusts for help.





	Bloodfeather

**Author's Note:**

> it's my ya boi, here with that sweet wingfic/whump combo
> 
> I'll have a companion Crowley whump piece soon.

The last thing anyone expects at 3 in the morning is to be woken up by pounding on one’s door. Whomever was on the other side of this door was going to get an earful about how rude it is to wake a sleeping demon. 

“’Ziraphale?” Crowley’s eyes widening and suddenly wide awake. Any annoyance and anger quickly dissolved, morphing into concern for angel leaning heavily on the door frame. 

Aziraphale steps into Crowley’s flat, holding a hand out, gripping Crowley’s hand tight when he takes it. “Dear. I’m afraid I got into...” With a small cry, he finally allows his wings to appear from the aether. “Got into a little scuffle on my trip” 

“Your wing…” Crowley says softly, shocked by the bright red blood staining his left primaries, dripping steady onto the floor. He wraps his other arm around the angels waist and Aziraphale gratefully leans in to him, unsure how much longer he's going to be able to keep himself upright. 

“What happened?” Crowley asks, mentally cataloguing demon’s he might have to kill for touching his angel

“Just a human.” Aziraphale says, feeling woozy, leaning more heavily into crowley, his wings dropping as his energy wanes. “...hurts.”

“I know angel,” Crowley pushes the concern that a human was about to inflict this kind of damage on a celestial being away, more worried now about the puddle of blood that had collected under his wing. “Let's get you fixed up, yeah?” He says, tucking himself under aziraphales arm, on his good side. 

Aziraphale just nods, tucking his good wing against his back, the injured one dragging behind them, leaving a trail of red on the floor. By the time they get to Crowley’s bedroom, he supporting most of Aziraphales weight. 

Crowley eases the angel onto his bed, laying him down, “Can you try to spread your wing out?” Aziraphale does, curling into the fetal position and clenching the sheets in his fist. 

“Oh angel,” He whispers, when he parts bloodstained feathers. He finds red and bruised skin, swelling up around feather shafts, and a mangled feather seeping blood. He gently palpated the area, feeling like a knife was twisting in his heart with every gasp and flinch from the angel. “Sorry, angel” He says, hoping it comes out soothing. “You didn’t break any bones, but there is bad news, I’m afraid.”

“Get on with it.”

“You’ve broken a bloodfeather, a primary.” 

“Oh…” aziraphale says weakly, his voice wavering. “W-will you need to pull it?”

“‘Fraid so angel, you’ll discorporate if you lose much more blood.”

Aziraphales whimper was enough to breaks Crowley’s heart. Pulling a bloodfeather was extremely painful, but the angel would keep bleeding if they didn’t do something about it. He miracled a pair of pliers and a few towels into existence. “Ready?” He asks, running his fingers through Aziraphales blonde hair. 

“No, not really.” He whimpers, his breath catching in his chest as he tries, fails to hold back a sob.

“It has to be done, you’ll bleed out otherwise.” He lays a hand between the angels wings, caressing gently with his thumb along the ridge of his shoulder blade. The angel is trembling beneath him, his feathers shaking as he pushes undamaged feathers away as gently as possible. 

When he gets the pliers close the the angels wing, Aziraphale starts to squirm, pulling his wing closer to his body. 

“Aziraphale.” He says firmly. 

“I know.” Aziraphale sniffles, tears freely flowing over his cheeks. He slowly extends his wing back into Crowley hands. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you apologize.” Crowley says a little to curtly given the situation. He’s not mad at Aziraphale, but rather angry that his angel has been hurt. “Not your fault.” He sinks the pliers teeth into the damaged feather, shaft crushed and mangled and dripping a steady stream of blood. “On three, angel.” He says giving him a count, bracing the wing with his other hand. He quickly and firmly yanks the feather out, as smooth as he can, an alarming amount of blood wells up in the follicle. 

Crowley thanks whoever is listening that Aziraphale seems to pass out when the feather is pulled, his whole body going slack. He presses a towel over the wound, applying pressure to stop the bleeding, his other hand running up and down Aziraphales back, whispering comforting words. It was all he could do at that point, the angels other injuries would need time to heal on their own. Though he wishes so badly he could just miracle the angels pain away. 

Crowly can tell when Aziraphale comes back around, all the tension in his body returning with his consciousness. 

“C’rwly.” He says, forcing his eyes to open. He feels so heavy and groggy. Instinctively he flexes his fingers, reaching out with his hand, searching. 

“I’m here, angel.” Crowley said softly, grabbing the angels wondering hand. “You’ve done well. The bleeding stopped.”

“Good.” He says, voice low and hoarse, he still hurts, but it's starting to abate just a little, the weight of the damaged feather no longer hanging from his wing. 

“Just rest a while.” Crowley says, reaching over to pull his comforter over the still trembling angel. Aziraphale for once doesn’t fight being told to rest, even though he was never a big fan of sleeping. 

Crowley continues absentmindedly stroking up and down Aziraphales back, unsure of what to do. His hand eventually drifts to the angels wings, running his fingers over soft feathers, and he starts to preen the feathers of his uninjured wing, hoping that it might bring Aziraphale even a little comfort as he smooths over ruffled feathers, laying them back smooth. He avoids the blood stained ones, making a mental note to draw Azriaphale a nice hot bath later to property clean his wings. 

“Thank you.” Aziraphale says with a sigh, the feeling of Crowley’s fingers through his feathers soothing his nerves and taking the edge off his aches and pains. 

“Shut up.” Crowley says, but there's no venom behind it. In fact his features are softening as Aziraphale melts into the bed. “If I hadn't asked you to cover for me this wouldn't have happened.”

Not having any of Crowley blaming himself, Aziraphale, who had been on the verge of sleep mere moments ago, lifts his head, turning to look at crowley, his heart panging at the soft look on his face. “You don’t know that. I was going to be there, temptation or not.” And that was the truth, he had a rare book to pick up, so it had only made sense for him to take care of the temptation as well.

“Ngk.” Crowley says, not so easily convinced, he purposely avoids making eye contact with Aziraphale, just focusing on the disorganized feathers in front of him. 

“It was my mistake, I let my guard down.” Aziraphale lay his head back on the pillows, he really was exhausted but he does owe Crowley an explanation, at the very least. “I was simply walking down the street, and out of nowhere I was slammed against a wall. I was caught off guard and lost control over these for a fraction of a second.” He gives his wings the smallest of flutters, hesitant to move to much. 

Crowley just sits, with his hands buried in Aziraphale’s feathers, not moving and not saying anything. 

“Dear,” Azirphale says, “I can hear you thinking. I miracled the bastard away, somewhere, out of reflex.”

Crowley takes a deep breath. “Am I really that obvious, angel?”

“Only ‘cause I've known you so long.” Aziraphales says. “Could you keep doing that though? It really feels lovely.”

“Doing what?”

“Grooming my wings.” Aziraphales says, smiling for the first time since he’d knocked on Crowley’s door. “S’nice.”

“Anything for you, angel”


End file.
